CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR #2
Michael hesitates. He bites his lip, his fists clenched on his knees. Then he exhales hard. “Shit. You’re gonna find out eventually. You need to be ready.”
His words send a bolt of panic through me. My mind jumps straight to the worst part of the night.
Tyler. His hands on her. Touching her.
God, please don’t let it be that.
I don’t think he raped her. He didn’t have time. But he did something to her. I know he did. They were alone in that tent for two minutes, and whatever happened… it messed her up. The thought slams into me like a hammer to the skull.
“What is it, Michael?” I demand.
“He broke her fingers, but that’s not all. On her right forearm… she doesn’t want you to know, but Tyler”—he swallows hard, fighting the words, his eyes dark with rage—“he carved his mark into her skin.”
Rage burns under my skin, spreading like wildfire too fast to contain.
“HE DID FUCKING WHAT?”
Michael’s face twists with something between sorrow and fury. “Remember Alicia’s bird tattoo? Tyler branded her with that. With Sarah… he carved the same mark into her arm. I stitched it, but we both know it’s gonna scar. He cut deep enough to make damn sure of that.”
My fists clench so tight my knuckles crack. The screams from the tent—Sarah’s screams—play back in my head. I didn’t understand the agony in her cries before.
Now I do.
Now I fucking know.
Without a word, I walk away from the tent, my steps heavy, boots pounding the ground. I need space.
I don’t go far.
I can’t.
I stop and press my hands to the bark of a tree, the only thing keeping me upright. Then I slam my fist into it, hard. The bark scrapes my knuckles, digs into my skin, but I barely feel it.
I drag in breath after breath, but my lungs won’t work.
I couldn’t speak even if I tried.
But inside, I’m screaming.
Hell isn’t some distant place.
It’s right here. Inside me.
◆◆◆
I slip quietly into Michael’s tent and lie down next to Sarah, one hand pressed to my side. Two of my ribs are broken, wrapped in a bandage Michael threw together. I’m so fucking tired I don’t know how I’m still standing.
My eyes move slowly over her, taking in the cruel map of bruises covering her skin. Her face. Her neck. Her arms. Her waist. Dark marks in the shape of fingertips—his fingertips. Tyler’s fucking hands on my girl.
Motherfucker.
My gaze lands on the bandage wrapped around her right forearm, where he carved his mark. His fucking mark.
The pain she must’ve felt… Not just the cut. But watching him do it. Watching him brand her like she was his.
My chest aches.
I fucking failed her.
Her free hand rests on her belly, rising and falling with each breath. Gently, I reach out and take it, lacing my fingers through hers. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.
She stirs. Her fingers twitch softly against my lips, and I prop myself up on my elbow.
“Sarah?”
Her eyes flutter open, and it’s like watching the sunrise after a night that feels endless.
“James,” she murmurs with a sleepy little sigh. “You woke me up from my dream.”
I press another kiss on her hand. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I always dream about you, Outsider.”
“Yeah? And what were we doing in this dream?”
“We were dancing on the roof of our new home in Northern Lights.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I like that.”
“The roof was painted purple.”
“Oh, come on,” I huff, mock-offended. “That’s worse than pink.”
She watches me, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
I adjust the blanket around her, tucking it snug over her shoulders, as if it might protect her, not just from the cold, but from anything that might try to steal her peace.
“Are you in pain?” I ask, my thumb brushing up and down her arm.
“Pain only makes you stronger.”
My words. She’s repeating my words.
I look at her, surprised. “Who told you that?”
She smiles, small and sweet. “A handsome man who walked into my life and now refuses to leave my side.”
I shift closer and rub soothing circles on her back. She places her hand on my chest, the splint on her broken fingers brushing against my shirt. I feel her heartbeat steady against my side. I can hear it, too.
When I carried her to the log by the campfire so Michael could treat her wounds, she was freezing.
I wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and kept talking, trying to keep her with me.
But she didn’t respond. She had zoned out completely.
Her eyes were locked on a butterfly hovering at the edge of the forest, its wings catching the sunlight as it drifted above the trees.
She watched it like nothing else existed.
When the butterfly disappeared, she blew out a soft breath and reached up with her good hand, undoing the two messy braids in her hair.
I thought she’d start fixing them, tucking every strand back where it belonged. I’ve seen her do it a thousand times, even with one hand. But she didn’t. She just let her hair fall loose around her shoulders and kept staring at the spot where the butterfly had vanished.
“You’re, uh… not wearing your braids.”
She tilts her head to look at me, her eyes flicking down to my chest. “And you’re wearing a T-shirt in our bed. Is that a new thing? Because I’m not sure I agree with it. I love having my own personal bonfire next to my skin.”
She dodges the question, but I chuckle anyway, shaking my head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“That’s what you keep telling me.” She smiles again, but I can see now—her eyes… they’re missing their usual spark.
She looks down, tracing invisible patterns on the blanket with her fingers.
Her shoulders lift with a quiet breath, like she’s trying to shake something off her chest. The silence drags between us long enough that I think she’s falling asleep again, until she whispers, “You never got to eat your apple pie.”
“Apple pie?”
“At the lake house. The one I made for dinner, before the storm destroyed everything. It was the first one I didn’t burn.”
I run my fingers through her hair, loose and unbraided. “Someday, you’ll make another one, and I’ll get my second chance to try it.”
Second chances. That’s what this is.
Outsiders don’t get happy endings. People like us? We don’t make it. We get hunted, tortured, killed for what we are.
Tyler was gonna kill me, but he would’ve made sure I suffered first. He would’ve made us watch while he turned Sarah into his new pet, dragging it out for days just to amuse himself. Then he would’ve killed Michael and me, and hauled her back to Denver.
Sarah studies me, taking in every detail—my black eye, the dried blood on my brow, the bruises across the backs of my hands, dark and angry from where I punched him. Then her gaze drops to the bandages around my wrists, already soaked through with blood again.
She looks up, meeting my eyes. “Are you okay, James?”
She’s got five broken fingers, a cut on her arm, a busted lip, bruises on her arms, back, and face, and she’s asking if I’m okay.
I pull her into me, her hands settling against my chest. “Never been better.”
I hug her tighter… until I suddenly freeze, my whole body going stiff. My eyes go wide because, fuck, I remember her bruises.
I loosen my hold right away, terrified I might be hurting her without even realizing it.
Sarah notices and closes the little space I left between us, pressing herself right back against me. “You can hug me. I know you’ll never hurt me.”
But my mind is already trapped in the images of that night. The slap across her face. His hands on her body. Her fingers breaking, one after the other. And that scream—God, that scream inside the tent.
Fuck, the nightmare never ends.
I swallow the rage clawing its way up my throat and force my voice to stay steady. “Sarah… do you want to talk about what happened?”
My eyes flick to her bandaged forearm. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it.
She follows my gaze and touches the bandage lightly. Her hand lingers there. She goes quiet, her eyes clouding over, filled with something I can’t stand seeing on her. Worry.
“He ripped my skirt,” she says, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
Her favorite. The skirt with tiny butterflies she only wore when she felt safe.
I reach for her, gently tilt her chin up, soft as I can, and brush the tear away with my thumb. “We’ll fix it. Together.”
She doesn’t tell me about Tyler’s mark on her arm. She doesn’t want me to know.
And that… that’s new.
She’s never kept secrets from me. Not until now.
And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
I reach for her left hand, wrapped in that splint, bruised and stiff. My hand just hangs there for a second. Then I pull it back and clench it into a fist at my side.
I can feel the anger crawling up my spine. I try to breathe. Try to keep it down. Try to stay in control.
But when I look at her again, she’s already watching me. She sees it. All of it. If it’s not my fist, it’s my shoulder locked up. If it’s not that, it’s the fury in my eyes, the hard set of my jaw. Doesn’t matter how deep I breathe, nothing in the world could hide that from her.
“I’m sorry he touched y—”
Fuck.
“I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. I-I—”
Fuck.
“Your fingers…” I look down, shaking my head. “I never wanted this for you, Sarah. I wanted to keep you out of my world. Keep you safe. And the pain he caused you…” I blow out a shaky breath. I can’t even finish that sentence.
“The world can punish me a thousand times, and I’d still choose you.”
“But why?”
“Because you’re my biggest dream, James.”
“Oh, Sarah… you’re mine too.”
I press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes as I breathe her in. Her scent—roses, warm and familiar—calms my heartbeat.
Her fingers brush against my jaw, and my eyes find hers again.
“James… do you still love me?”
I blink, thrown. “Why would you even ask that?”
She presses her lips into a tight line, trying to hold back tears, but they fall anyway. “You didn’t say yes.”
My chest tightens at the broken look on her face.
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her skin. “Sarah, how could I ever stop loving you? Where’s this coming from?”
She tries to look away, but I don’t let her. I gently tilt her chin, refusing to let her hide from me.
“You never said it, but I know you didn’t want me to kill anyone,” she says, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “And now that I have… I’m scared you’ll stop loving me.”
I shake my head before that thought can even take root.
“Sarah, loving you is what keeps me alive. I don’t care that you killed Tyler. My only regret is that I didn’t do it myself. Nothing in this world, in this life or any other, will ever make you anything but mine. I’ll always love you.” Always.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
She exhales, like a weight has finally lifted off her chest, and I catch the relief in her big green eyes.
I wrap her in my arms and pull her onto me, letting her use not just my chest, but my whole body as her pillow. Then I reach for the blanket, tucking it around us. She fits perfectly, like she was made to be here, like this, with me.
The best part of sleeping beside Sarah isn’t just the warmth she brings on a cold night.
It’s the way her scent lingers long after she slips away in the morning.
That soft, sweet floral smell, like wildflowers after the rain.
It clings to the blanket, to my skin, and somehow becomes a part of me.
Even when she’s not here, she’s still here.
It’s like she has figured out how to haunt me in the most beautiful way.
And honestly? I don’t mind being haunted by her one bit.